


Staircases

by morrezela



Series: The Fairy Tale 'Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Amnesia, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 07:09:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morrezela/pseuds/morrezela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fairytale AU: Jared is a workman’s apprentice in the royal palace. He should be happy for the opportunity, but he really just wishes that he was back home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Staircases

**Author's Note:**

> All mistakes that you find are my own.

Jared trailed a finger over the fancy carvings on the grand staircase that he was polishing. The dark, cherry colored wood gleamed from years of tireless care and detailing. Sure the steps themselves had been replaced as booted feet and high heels had done their damages, but the detailing and the balustrades were originals. When repairs were performed, the bolstering materials were merely worked into the artistic presentation of the staircase instead of new creations taking their place.

It was a sight to behold and still Jared’s favorite part of the castle. Sherman would laugh at the eager young workman whenever Jared volunteered to do maintenance on it. He’d tell Jared that there was no need for an apprentice to do the cleaning and the upkeep. The royal family kept maids for a reason, and Jared’s fingers were best suited to working larger projects. He might have the dexterity in them now to work the dust out of small rosettes, but as he aged, his large fingers and larger frame wouldn’t abide to be contorted into such positions.

But Jared argued that losing such ability when he aged was the very reason that he should take the opportunity while he was young, and nobody ever fought him over the assignment. It was hours of work that one spent on one’s knees. A maid, or maids if she could find friends that would share the burden, would merely shine over the wearing places instead of tending to the tiny chips or cracks and keeping the disease of time from spreading.

More importantly, the steps reminded Jared of home, and he enjoyed having the opportunity to be close even if it was only in his mind.

Jared’s parents weren’t poor, not exactly. His father was a weaver and his mother a scribe’s daughter. They had held a small shop for as long as Jared could remember, and they lived right above. His earliest memory was of his mother carrying him up the narrow and twisting steps that lead from the middle of the shop floor to their small home above.

In the day time, his father would hang his brightest weavings from the railings of the staircase to entice shoppers who would invariably leave with plain browns and utilitarian grays. He would play with Jared when business was slow, making believe that the fabrics were the great tapestries of the rich families that lived in the far off capital cities.

Jared had always dreamed of taking over his father’s business, but as he grew, it became apparent that he hadn’t the nimbleness in his fingers to weave fine cloth, and he refused to be the man who could only make ugly, durable cloth fit for covering wagons and the like.

His knack for woodworking had served him well. It had gotten him a place in the palace and made him the envy of all who knew him.

It was a wonderful opportunity, but it was very lonely. He missed his mother’s cooking and soft touches. He missed the way that his father would sit around the fireplace at night and regale the family with tales of his customers. He felt vaguely envious of his own nieces and nephews who were no doubt crawling up and down his parent’s staircase, playing knights and dragons with the latest of their grandfather’s creations while Jared knelt amongst endless finery and wept for the coldness of it all.

A drop of water ran down Jared’s face, and he hastily wiped it away with the back of his hand lest it mix in with the wax that he was painstakingly applying to the moldings. He’d let no bubbles or imperfections mar his work. Not when there was a delegation coming in less than a fortnight, and the grand entryway would see traffic that could so easily damage.

Another drop of water took its place though, and Jared tried to think of anything other than how much he wanted to be at home. He’d never wanted to leave, had never planned to put more than a square’s worth of distance between himself and his family, but the opportunity to study with the king’s craftsmen was rare. To give it up would have been unthinkable.

Jared rather wished he hadn’t been raised to be so sensible. What need had he of royal patronage? Could it ever possibly replace the paternal wisdom that his own father would give him?

A third and fourth drop of water joined the first two, and Jared rocked back on his heels so that the annoying moisture would only drip onto his apron instead of his work.

The fifth drop was caught on the back of another man’s hand.

Startled, Jared looked up to see a stranger standing in front of him. The man was covered in dust from the road, and his tall riding boots were worn and scuffed. Despite the obvious signs of use to the man’s clothing, Jared could see the fine craftsmanship in the cloth of his breeches and the weave of his tunic. The dye alone had to have cost several gold pieces to achieve the hues that the man’s garments were sporting.

“Your eyes are too pretty for tears,” the man’s voice rumbled as he spoke, like a mountain stream speaking to the valley.

Jared blushed, unaccountably embarrassed by both the compliment and his own fanciful thoughts. “I do not know what you mean… my lord,” Jared hastily tacked on as his hard earned manners won out over his confusion. They had been a difficult lesson to learn. Jared was affable by nature, and to be reserved was foreign to him.

“Mmmm, I doubt that. You think me a spoiled heir to my father’s fortune. Out to have sport with servants and leave them with little except for their ruined virtue and perhaps a copper piece for their comforts,” the man surmised aloud.

“I would think that I should expect at least a silver for my troubles if you are purchasing such fine garments for mere travel,” Jared heard himself say.

The man laughed. Though he did not seem to take offense, his next words were unsettling, “You cry in the house of kings and openly mock those above your station. Tell me, what is your name?”

Jared swallowed and even though he quaked in fear, he also hoped that maybe the man who stood before him would take pity and send Jared home. Surely such a man would not take to being insulted by a man of Jared’s standing, but he seemed in good enough spirits to perhaps send Jared off with a simple and honorable dismissal.

“My name is Jared, sir,” Jared said.

“Jared,” the man repeated as if he was testing it on his tongue.

“And might I ask your name?” Jared asked as timidly as he could.

“What need have you for it?” the man rejoined.

“I wish to know the name of the man whose honor I insulted, so that when I am reprimanded, I do not gape like a fool and claim ignorance,” Jared replied.

The man laughed again, and Jared chanced a look at his face to see that his eyes were crinkled in mirth. “My name is Jensen, Master Jared.”

“Jensen?” Jared squeaked, alarm flooding his features. “The King’s…”

“The King’s sorcerer? Mage? Magician? Trickster? Deceiver? I am he,” Jensen supplied with a grand wave of his hand.

“But you live on the mountain,” Jared said.

“And I come when summoned,” Jensen added.

“You are only called for when there is war a foot or great troubles,” Jared muttered more to himself than the man standing in front of him. His heart twisted anxiously at the thought of his parents and siblings. What if there was war coming? How could he aide them if he was kept at court while the outlying village that he called home was sacrificed to the arrows and fires of battle?

“Peace,” Jensen ordered. “I come not for matters of war. ‘Tis only a curse, and one that you need not worry over. You are too pretty for crying or worrying.”

“What bearing does my appearance have on such matters?” Jared snapped at the compliment.

“Ask me that again when the curse is over,” Jensen replied as he turned and continued his trek up the staircase.

Jared watched him go and tried not to fume about the fact that he didn’t even know there was a curse in the first place. How was he supposed to know when it was over?

With a grunt of irritation, Jared went back to work and tried to console himself with the knowledge that at least now he had something other than his loneliness to occupy his thoughts.


End file.
